


Threaded

by TakeninStride



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: But they aren't present, F/M, Mentions Spirit and Stein offhandedly, Red String of Destiny, SoMa Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6689116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeninStride/pseuds/TakeninStride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic, demons, destiny, angels, true love… These things all have one big trait in common: their existence is widely debated. That being said, these things do exist, as I’m sure you’re aware. They skirt the peripheries of typical human observation and linger at the edge of their collective consciousness. Today we will set our sights on two adults— both of whom don’t know each other— but, nevertheless, share an inherent truth: they are amorini. He was born into his magic and she inherited hers after a turn of unfortunate events. Let us watch now as they have to work together to discover and achieve their own dreams…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Spinster and the Proxy

Soul grumbled to himself as he situated the empty messenger bag on his shoulder.

_'I can't believe he transferred me all the way out here.'_

He'd been born into a life of magic which would have been well and good with him if his specific destiny wasn't so goddamned _froofy_. He envied the cool nature of demons and their lords but would have even settled for being a human warlock.

Alas, his mother's magic was rooted in **love** of all things.

Other amorini lived and breathed romance. Soul detested the stuff. Serenading oblivious young couples to influence their feelings? Tweaking their pheromones during the night? Setting up elaborate circumstances to bond a pair, maybe an occasional polyamory…? He wanted nothing to do with _any_ of it. But such was his lot. He decided early on that if he had to partake (which he did, lest he suffer madness as a consequence) he would make it a point to choose the least involved methods.

Usually he would pick a target to hover around and bind them to someone who seemed like a good match. He never put more effort into matchmaking than that. Every now and then he'd get a paycheck from his contractor for (somehow) successfully matching a pair. More often than not, though, the couples couldn't find true love in their destined.

Soul didn't care much either way. It was his personal philosophy that that's what people get for putting their faith in destiny.

What he _did_ care about, and very much so at that moment, was that his contractor had had him sent to the eastern prefectures to work his ~~lackluster~~ magic and hopefully collect a harvest. He was away from his family, away from the few individuals he could call his friends, and he had to board with a **spinster** of all people.

He knocked on the door a second time, his patience waning quickly.

_'Damn hag is probably taking an afternoon nap and forgot that I'd be showing up toda—'_

The door swung open wide, completely cutting off his mental grouching, and he was met with two bright, grassy eyes situated nicely on a young face… A face that was scrunched up in a glare. She ushered him inside.

"Hi, yes, come in. Make yourself at home. I have to finish up this batch of string. Someone will be here soon to collect and if I'm not done with it he'll have _both_ of our heads."

Soul stood awkwardly in the doorway as the small blonde amorini whisked across the soft wood floors and threw herself onto a high stool. The workbench beside her and the surrounding floor was littered with haphazard piles of red wool.

"Uhh, there's a hallway to your left and the room at the end is ready for you if you want to put your stuff down," she called back to him, never taking her focus away from whatever it was she was doing.

He dropped off his stuff and returned to the living area. The whole house was much nicer on the inside than he would have expected. The exterior had looked dilapidated and he had thought that the house was actually abandoned from the state of the overgrown driveway leading up to the bowed porch. He couldn't even see a speck of mold in the corners of the house even though the smell of mildew had been strong on the front step. There was even a real bed set up in his room!

He needed to confirm he was in the right place before he would allow his relief to sink in. "You're Maka Albarn, right?"

She hummed in approval. "And you're Mister Evans, correct? The Cupid who's going to be staying here for a month?"

"That's me, although I'm more of a proxy. Call me Soul."

The girl stiffened, setting down the wool in hand. She turned to face him with an expression he couldn't place.

"…You're a proxy…" She looked down at the thread in the basket by her feet and then back up to him, seeming to see him for the first time. Her hands clapped up to her mouth as she attempted to suppress a strange gurgling sound that rose from the back of her throat. "I'm so sorry! The string it… it isn't ready yet! I spent some time this morning making sure uh… _your_ room, I guess… was put together when I **should** have been spinning. I'm so—"

Soul raised his hand to stop the apologies that were bubbling out of her. "Don't worry about it. I don't actually need any until I go out tomorrow."

She eyed him warily before relaxing with a relieved huff, her bangs shifting away from her face. "I didn't realize that my ward and my client were the same person. Your contractor called you a soul eater. I was expecting you to be… not so cool about me being late on the order."

He shot her his best toothy grin, jabbing his thumb to his chest. "I'll have you know I'm the coolest guy around. I don't really conform to the whole Evan's family virtuoso-thing so I'm making my own way. That's why I go by Soul Eater. I gotta say I'm surprised to see you aren't some 50 year old crone by the way that Stein described you…"

"Your contractor isn't very good at establishing the right impression, is he?"

"Nah, he's kind of a dick through and through."

She laughed at that. "Well, then I suppose I can take just a quick break to show you around, _Mister Eater_."

As they toured around the house they made basic small talk that was led by the tiny blonde. Foyer, living room dominated by Maka's workspace ("Sorry about the mess, it's much nicer working in here. The shed is falling apart."), dining room, hallway, bathroom ("There's only one so please put the seat down when you're down using it!"), her room ("Off limits, of course."), his room, linen closet, library, kitchen ("You'll have to make your own food."), pantry, and finally the back door.

Soul realized after some careful observations that she was actually human; humans didn't usually get pulled into magical lines of work if they weren't born into the trade. His curiosity got the better of him.

"So…" Soul started lamely after a silence had fallen over them. They had made their way back to her table. "What made you wanna get into the amorini business?"

"My dad was a shepherd." He saw a flash of disgust (or maybe it was shame?) cross her face before she schooled her expression into something neutral but the hard edge in her voice suggested he drop the topic.

Soul knew he was prying but he didn't care about social grace very much. "Was?" She'd tell him if she wanted to.

She ran a hair through her bangs and made to speak before shaking her head. "C'mon."

He followed her out through the back door.

The yard behind the house was overgrown but it looked like more effort had gone into its maintenance. The shed she had mentioned before shrugged heavily to its left at the edge of the property, its door coming unhinged. What really caught his attention was the towering brick wall that made up the back fence and cut through the surrounding forest with no end in sight.

"What in the…"

She led him right up to the wall, opening a shoddy wooden gate that seemed all too out of place inside of the classical archway. She swept her arms up to present whatever she'd taken him to see with a sarcastic, "Ta-dah!"

Acres of… what looked to be clouds stretched on before them. The hilly plain was scattered with small huddles of sheep; they were easy to see against the billowing cottony plants because of their rich red wool.

" _Woah._ "

He heard a strained laugh from the spinner behind him. "Yeah. _Woah_. Trying to take care of all of these little guys _and_ weave destiny is a little too 'woah' for me."

He considered her skeptically after managing to tear his eyes away from the landscape. "Is that why you're taking in tenants? You need farm help?"

She grinned devilishly, "Well now, I didn't say anything about farm help but if you're **so** insistent…!"

"Hey, hey, hey don't you try and put words in my mouth, woman," he couldn't help but grin back at her.

It had been a long time since he'd met such easy company.

They shared a chuckle as they made their way back into the house. "No, I'm just getting some stipends for housing you. It's enough that I can focus on managing the fields and taking care of the sheepsters without worrying about doing commissions— I will keep you stocked up on string, of course."

She returned to her perch and started spinning the wool onto the wooden tool in hand. He knelt beside the finished basket of string and ran a length of it between his fingers.

"Holy shit."

She grinned proudly as she worked.

"What grade even is this?" The feel of the stuff was enough to tell him that it was premium, but he could also see small tendrils of silver, as thin and gossamer as spider webs, weaved delicately through.

"The wool is Spirit Standard," she explained.

Now, Soul hated this business… He hated mushy-gushy sentimentality with every fiber in his body. But he knew the trade and had been raised in the industry. So he couldn't help but gape at the unsuspecting woman in front of him.

"…You're Spirit's kid?"

"Unfortunately."

"Those sheep out there…"

"They were Spirit's. Now they're mine, I guess."

"And this silver stuff? I've never seen this before. It's not arachnia, is it?"

"When he took off and left me alone with all of this stuff I decided to take some creative license and add my own _spin_ to things."

He glared.

She snorted.

"It's unicorn hair," she hummed.

 

**_ What. _ **

**_ The. _ **

**_ Fuck. _ **

 

"This…This is not only Spirit Standard red-destiny but _Spirit Standard imbued with fucking **unicorn hair**_ red-destiny?"

"That is correct!"

_What the fuck._

Soul stared at her owlishly. Moments of silence passed between them until his bewildered gaze broke her concentration. "What about it?"

"Giving _this_ to **me** is a bad idea," he emphasized, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

She considered him skeptically, "And why is that, Eater?"

"I'm not exactly a highly esteemed matchmaker. I'm honestly pretty bad at it." He had already wasted enough regular, run of the mill, mass produced red-destiny. He didn't want to be responsible for fucking up the good stuff.

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and turned back to the task of spinning wool into slender yarn. "Well you're in luck, then. You know why unicorn hair is so valuable right?"

He blinked at her. Of _course_ he did. "It magnifies the power of the thread. Like, a lot."

"It magnifies the effect AND it does half of the work for you!"

It was his turn to eye her suspiciously. "What do you mean, 'it does the work for you?'"

"I'm sure you'll figure out when you try using it. I don't know the specifics of it, but I've gotten some sweet reviews."

As she spoke she pulled the last bit of wool against the dowel with a spin and detangled the yarn from the spinner. She hefted the basket of finished string into his arms. "Anyway, this is yours. If you get low let me know and I'll work on spinning you a second batch. It will end up paying for itself if you keep on using this kind, too. Just… give it a chance."

He stared dumbly between the spinster and the precious mass of string in his arms. "Oh…uh, well thanks then."

The grins she had shot him earlier had been cheeky and proud; the one she turned on him now was bright and genuine. "No problem!"

It was at that moment that Soul's stomach dropped and he knew it was going to be a long month.


	2. Sheared Hearts

Maka pulled herself into the house with a grumble, flinging her heavy gloves off of her sweaty hands with a powerful flick of the wrist. She toed the heels of her working boots, able to maneuver her thin legs out without having to untie them. She sighed into one of the chairs at the dining room table resting her whole upper half along the cool, wood surface.

"You doing okay, Cinderelli?"

She turned to look at the proxy. He'd just gotten out of the shower, evidenced by the towel slung around his neck, and had probably just gotten up.

"Shouldn't you be working?" she glared at the clock and it told her what she already knew. It was past noon.

"I was working the late crowd last night. Clubs and bars aren't the best places to look for individuals seeking commitment but I still managed to connect a pair thanks to your unicorn hairs."

Despite his accomplishment, Maka noticed that he spoke with a shrug in his voice. "That's good right? Matchmaking successfully, that is."

He disappeared into the kitchen as he hummed in acknowledgment. "I mean, it's not _bad_. That's some kind of paycheck depending on how compatible the relationship is."

She rolled her neck so that her forehead was pressed to the table once more, content to relax for a few minutes before she needed to get back out to the fields and manage more cumulus. She was getting low on bales of the stuff and would need to stockpile the inventory while she could.

She was caught up in making her mental checklist and was startled when Soul put a plate down in front of her face. There were a couple of sandwiches stacked up and a huge glass of water clinked onto the table. The white-haired amorini sat as well, shoving one of the cut halves into his mouth.

"You just gunna look at me like I've grown a second head or are you going to eat?"

"Ew, Soul don't talk with your mouth full!" she said, scooting the plate protectively out of his spit zone. She did manage to scarf down her share though, realizing how famished she'd been after just one bite. She would have been overwhelmed with her gratitude if she wasn't so bone-tired. Still, she managed a sincere, "Thank you."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, caught in the middle of sipping on his coffee. She noticed that he had picked her favorite mug for his afternoon pick-me-up: it was a gaudy Halloween gift she’d gotten for herself. The mug was fashioned into a skull shape and its handle was designed to look like vertebrae. He set the cup down and turned his red eyes on her, the picture of seriousness. "You need help."

His statement threw her, "N-no? No, I'm doing just fine."

"I've been here for two weeks now and every time I see you you just look worse," he said.

She clenched her jaw. "Yeah, I guess I'm a _little_ tired, but it's nothing I can't manage. Besides, even if I did need an extra farmhand—which I don't—I couldn't pay them. And no one in their right mind would do this work for free."

He considered her for a quiet minute, sucking on his teeth all the while. Her impatience got the best of her; he clearly had something to say. "Just spit it out!"

"Let me help."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Let me help."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time. But why? Do you even know how to do **any** of this stuff," she gestured toward the sheep fields.

"Not a clue. But you're gunna die at 24 if you keep trying to do this by yourself you know."

She glared at him and huffed, "I'm already 26..."

He had already started going off on something else about self-care when he cut himself off, "...Wait what? No. Really? You look like you're 14, I was just giving you the benefit of the doubt."

She located a stack of books on the cabinet behind her and lobbed one at him. He took it in the shoulder but was laughing too hard to pay her assault any mind.

"Whatever," she grumbled. She folded her arms tight across her chest, hating the way her cheeks felt hot from her frustration. "I don't need help."

He wiped at the corner of his eye. His guffawing had ceased to repressed chuckles before dying altogether. "Yes, you do. Don't be so stubborn. Look, I'll help you out today so you can get what you need done. We can go out tomorrow and I can show you how to use the string you make so you can get some easy, physical-labor-free money to hire someone who _does_ know what they're doing."

"You've put a lot of thought into this," she grumbled. "There's no guarantee that we'll be able to find a match though, right? So it might just be a big waste of time and I can't afford that either..."

"It's never a guarantee, but you'd be good at this stuff. I've seen your book collection, you know."

She threw another book from the stack, this time the spine connected with his forehead.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for?!"

"You know what that was for!"

He rubbed his forehead but apparently the pain of her projectile did nothing to wipe away the grin that split his face. "Oh, you mean it’s _my_ fault you own at least 15 books that have covers of handsome, shirtless and sensual cowdudes?"

She screamed. 

He ran.

Soul tore through the back door and leapt the gate into the ranch. What she lacked in stride she made up for with fury. She was right on his heels when suddenly he was crashing to the ground with a yelp. Maka couldn't stop herself in time and tripped over him.

When she could breathe again she pushed herself off of the ground and glared at the boy that was face first in a thick patch of cumulus. She'd meant to continue her string of insults but she noticed at that moment that his hair and the cloud-like grass were the same exact shade of silvery white.

"Sorry about that," he said, pulling himself onto his feet and offering her a hand. She was surprised to note his palms were smooth as they clasped the backs of her own hands. "You okay?"

She hummed and shook her head to clear the daze that had fallen over her.

_Did I hit my head on something? Or is Soul being really kind today?_

A couple of sheep had broken away from a larger cluster and nosed her leg curiously. She gently patted the top of their heads and spoke to them in a song-song coo that answered Soul's inquiry. "Yes, hello, I'm okay. You can stop nibbling on me now, thank you."

"So what work needs to be done today?" He asked, brushing himself off. Maka grabbed a handful of the chest-high grass (her chest, that is. The grass was only as tall as Soul’s waist) and presented it to him.

"I've been harvesting this stuff and piling it into bales so I can feed them quickly when I don't have time to manage them in the pasture all day. But a couple of the sheep still need haircuts, so we'll have to do that first."

"Do you just...?" he reached out and grabbed a handful as she had done.

"Gosh, no. That...you'd never get anywhere. C'mon, I left the scythe and the shears in the barn."

The barn was impeccable, a fact that Maka was very proud of. The long warehouse of pens and work spaces almost glittered it place was so clean.

"It doesn't even stink in here!" Soul explained incredulously.

Maka located the shears on a workbench just where she'd left them and directed Soul to follow her into a pen that housed a handful of sheep that were almost drowning in their long locks. She pulled up a stool and had Soul sit beside a red, wooly beastie. She talked him through how to shear the not-so-little guy and soon enough Soul was calling her name. She turned to compliment his work and burst into laughter. He'd sheared off all of the wool except the top line and had pulled the wool up into floppy, imperfect spikes.

"Stop giving my sheep liberty spikes!"

"No. This is Damien and he told me he's always wanted a punk style and you've _never_ payed attention to his requests!" he started to cut away the 'hawk anyway.

"Not too shabby," she said.

"It's my finest work, for sure."

They bantered as they sheared away, collecting the oily wool in barrels of soapy water. Soon enough, they finished up and Maka returned to the house to retrieve her gloves and work boots before coming back into the barn to retrieve Soul and the scythes, just in time to catch him scratching one of the sheep under its floppy ear.

"Careful," she chimed, catching him off guard. She could easily see the pink that blossomed on his cheeks as a result of being caught. "Loving them up too much makes their wool come in faster."

He considered the sheep skeptically, and she could see that he was tempted to test her claim. 

"C'mon _cowboy_ , we got some grass to cut."

She led him into a section of the field that was currently empty of her red charges and taught Soul how to swing his scythe, careful to stand at a distance from each other. He picked it up quickly, it was a lot less technical than the shearing had been— this however was exhausting. She could see him swipe his wet bangs out of his face after every swoop. Eventually, she arranged her pigtails into a single bun on the top of her head and proffered him the extra elastic. His hair was short in comparison and he couldn't pull it all up, reluctantly settling pulling his bangs back.

"Stop laughing," it was his turn to mumble and grumble as she teased the new walking, talking TROLLZ doll in her midst. He took his frustration out on a crop of cumulus. 

More time passed and Maka was swingin' and slicin’ away. As Soul walked an armful to their growing pile of harvested grass he broke her concentration. "How?? How do you make it look so easy? Are you stacked? Are you shredded? How much do you even lift?"

She chuckled, leaning up on her scythe easily. "Honestly I could probably bench press you in my sleep, but that's not saying much. I just grew up doing this kinda stuff."

"Where even is your muscle anyway? I'm pretty sure I could encircle your whole bicep between my thumb and forefinger."

She shrugged and started to gather up some of the fluffy-tipped white-grass. "I dunno where it goes but it's definitely there. Anyway, we should probably wrap up. The sun's almost down."

"Thank any and every god," he sighed, eliciting a giggle from her.

"Tired?"

He responded by falling dramatically backwards onto the soft pile they were supposed to be tying up. 

"Soul..."

"It's too comfy. You'll probably have to bury me here. There's no way I'm getting up."

She plopped down next to him and tossed a heaping handful over him. "What should I put on your headstone, then?"

He considered it, mock-seriousness stealing over his face. "Something like, 'Here lies the coolest guy to ever exist: Soul Eater.'"

She nodded along humming a sarcastic approval before a comfortable silence fell between them. The sky had bloomed orange and was bruising black on the Eastern horizon.

She fell back into the cut grass as well, grateful to be done for the day. They'd made a lot of progress on the field. It had also been nice to have Soul's companionship to distract her from the physical demands of the job.

"Thanks for helping out today. I do really appreciate it."

"Glad I could help," he returned. "Shearing was actually kind of fun. I think I'd pass on offering to help with the lawn-mowing again, though."

"Yeah... I know what you mean. I don't really like doing all of this. It's so relentless."

"Why keep doing it then?"

"Well… I can't just let the farm go to pieces. It's still important to me," she picked at one of the grass strands, peeling each tendril of soft seed from the thin stalk. She continued quietly, "My mom willed the land to me when she died. I've grown up with a bunch of these sheep and I watched the rest be born. And then there's my dad's business side of things... there's so much demand for our product."

"It's way too much for one person to handle," he said softly. "You know that, right?"

She supposed it really was. She'd been fighting and pushing her limits to keep everything together. With her mom dead and her dad gone AWOL there was an overwhelming amount of slack to pick up. The only way to pay for the house and the farm was to keep selling their—her premium product. But it was a terrible cycle, she realized. The cumulus needed to be managed, the sheep needed to be fed, the sheep needed to be sheared, the wool needed to be cleaned, the wool needed to be spun, the string needed to be sold. Over and over, ad infinitum. She'd been making enough to keep herself afloat but she knew she was doing so at the expense of her health.

"I think I will go with you tomorrow," she mused into the cooling air.

He snorted, "You didn't really have a choice."

She threw another handful of grass at him, only feeling a little sorry as some got in his mouth and caused him to splutter.

"Do you like what you do?" she asked when he was done pawing at his face.

"Nope. I'm not just an amorini by trade though; shit's in my blood so I don't really get a choice either. Not using your magic is a good way to end up insane."

She'd heard stories from their clients over the years about the madness of excess magic and had done some research into it. It was a pretty heavy topic and she didn’t want to press it further.

"Why do you use red-destiny as your medium?"

He shrugged, the grass shifting under his shoulders. "Least likely to kill me from embarrassment? Romance isn't really a language I speak. The string might not be the best choice if money or fame is what you're after, but it's quiet and solid. It's practical."

"I dunno, I think a sultry sax solo is probably the _coolest_ way," she teased.

"Yeah, all the sax-players seem to think so. The rest of us just laugh at them," he crossed his arms over his chest.

"'The rest of us' being just you, right?"

He sat up to glare at her levelly. Before he could quip or gripe though she threw herself onto her feet and offered to help him up. He took her hand and was pulled up effortlessly.

"Seriously, what the hell," he sounded exasperated. He carefully gripped her bicep, testing with a squeeze, and she noted that his (long) fingers _couldn't_ close over her flexed muscle. She beamed at him, proud of her strength. When he pulled his hand away to detangle his hair from the elastic she could still feel warmth lingering where he'd touched her. And the way his hair messily claimed its spot on his face...

"Alrighty!" She squeaked, turning away from him on her heel, "Let's get this cleaned up. I'll make dinner for both of us tonight since you helped me out. But...uh, don't expect anything tasty. I'm not very good at cooking."

He laughed, picking both of their scythes from the ground, "Sounds good Maks."

It was at that moment that Maka's heart jumped into her mouth and she knew that she didn't want his month's stay to be over in two weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy howdy, these kids are something else. I hope you're all enjoying this little world I've put together; let me know how you like their characterizations and stuff. Next time we learn more hocus-pocus stuff from Soul!


	3. Seeing Destiny

He woke up feeling like some small demon had crawled its way under his skin and had played every string of muscle like a harp.

He grumbled and groaned into his pillow, cursing his kindness. Not only had he offered to participate in hours of grueling manual labor but he'd also set up a schedule for himself the next day like a fool.

However, there was only so much whining he could allow himself. His weary bones and burned skin didn't add up to regret so he heaved himself out of bed: the afternoon coffee crowd wasn't going to stick around all day. He figured he'd start Maka out at prime-time.

He dragged himself into a cold shower wincing as the water hit his sensitive shoulders but grateful that he no longer felt like his skin was boiling.

Maka hissed sympathetically when he finally crawled into the living room. "You look dead."

He hummed, pulling on his dirty sneakers. "You ready to go, pigtails?"

She uncurled from her book, setting it down on the table. "I guess, but aren't you going to eat?"

"Nah, I'll grab something when we get there," he said, reaching out to grab his jacket before quickly rethinking. He could hardly stand the light cotton t-shirt on his back.

"Where exactly is _there_?" she asked, bouncing over to him near the door.

"There are a couple of coffee shops around town. Most of them are commercial places where people just wanna be in and out without any hassle but there are a couple of smaller shops that encourage the customers to sit down and relax. Places like that are perfect for finding easy targets, so it's where we're going to start."

Half an hour later they found themselves seated at a window bar. Soul was sucking down a mocha and shoveling pastries into his mouth while Maka idly blew on her steaming tea.

"So," he started once he'd finished taking his fill, "first things first: you have to pick your starter. It's usually a good choice to pick a romantic unless you're looking for a challenge. You usually wanna pick your time and place accordingly to where you’d expect to find one. Coffeeshops outside of the morning rush, libraries, museums, anything you could remotely consider a public point of culture is a good place to start."

"Once you're here, how do you choose?" she asked turning to face the rest of the shop’s patrons. Several people were plugged into their laptops, a couple were nose deep in books (most of which looked academic), and some people were simply enjoying themselves and their treats.

She looked all too excited for someone who had protested so much the day before. She kicked her legs absently against the stool and bounced in place... It was too cute and he imagined that it was completely involuntary on her part. He quietly sipped on his coffee to cure his dry throat.

"Who would you consider first?" he asked speculatively.

"I'm not the expert here," she huffed.

"There's really no right or wrong. It's usually about instinct."

She looked at him skeptically before turning back to the store. She appraised everyone quietly. Finally, she turned back around to face him.

"Well?" he prompted when she didn't speak.

"The barista... with the long ponytail."

He appraised the woman as well. The shop was full of customers but there was no one to serve at that moment. As such, the barista in question was leaning against the counter on her arms with a faraway look in her eye. She sighed with her body, shoulders drooping without a sound.

"Good pick!" he grinned. "So now that you have your numero uno it's time to tie."

He reached into his satchel and quirked an eyebrow at her as he pulled a loose end of the string she had spun. He slowly wound the thread around his fingers, explaining the patterns and loops. When he was finished he presented the most complicated cat’s cradle she'd probably ever seen.

"Hold out your hand."

She complied, eyes shimmering with wonder. He supposed it **was** a magic trick, after all. He positioned her pinky finger in the center and was about to let the trap spring when she pulled her hand back as though burned.

"What are you doing??"

He blinked. "What are _you_ doing?"

She cradled her hand and eyed him suspiciously. "I asked first."

He sighed, dropping his chin to rest on the red net caught between his fingers. "I _was_ going to demonstrate."

"On me??"

"Uhh, yeah?" and then it clicked. "Not for **real** , you nerd. I haven't started the magic yet."

She pinked. "W-well, how was I supposed to know? You're the expert here!"

He smirked, "If you're gunna keep calling me an expert then you should probably not question my methods."

She collected herself with a nod—her pigtails bouncing with the movement, Soul couldn't help but observe, and she held her hand back out for him.

"There are two words of power you need to know to do this properly but I'm not going to say them yet for obvious reasons. In a real situation you speak the first word after you finish the cradle. The net and the word are the two components of the first spell. It's not invisibility, per se, but you'll go unnoticed all the same—it’d be pretty awkward to just walk up to some stranger and accost their fingers. In theory, though, you could just walk up to someone in broad daylight and tie a knot on their finger. I'm sure you could probably find a way to lasso destiny, if you wanted." He enjoyed making her laugh; it was a throaty and sweet sound that stirred butterflies in his stomach. 

He cleared his throat and flexed his fingers bringing her attention to his hands once the cradle was positioned around her pinky. "You drop the net like this... and then speak the second word. This completes the spell. It basically zeroes the invisibility to just that person, so you can hover around them without them knowing."

"That's kinda creepy," she dead-panned. "What about their friends or family, though? Won't they see you?"

"Nope. Anyone with a connection to the chosen won't be able to sense you either. I mean, you can always make yourself known by directly interacting with them but people won't really remember. Thankfully, physical touch does break the spell’s effect so those of us without moral compasses can't get away with anything too treacherous."

She leaned back into her stool, "Well that's good. So what’s next?"

"Well," he slipped the loop of red thread from her pinky and detangled the knot that had been pulled into place, "the rest comes after so let's take it in steps. Can you do the cradle for yourself or do you want me to do it for you?"

She sat up immediately, "I can do it."

He offered her the string and was surprised to find he didn't have to correct her loops at all. He complimented her handiwork and was rewarded with her beaming smile.

"Now the first word of the spell is Xiāoshī."

"...S-showshee? Is that Chinese?"

He hummed with a nod. "It means 'to vanish.' Little bit more emphasis on the first sound though, it's like if 'sh' and a soft j had a baby. Xiāoshī."

"Showji?"

"No, that part was fine, the j comes in on the first 'sh' since it's technically an x. Get that accent down, Hermione."

"Levi-o-sah," she teased, sticking her tongue out at him. "Xiāoshī?"

He didn't need to tell her that she had said it right. To anyone else in the shop she would have simply flickered out of sight. But he watched as her skin lit from underneath with a dim red glow, her green eyes muddying against the contrast. 

Maka yelped as she watched the change. "What...! Red? I'm...Soul?" 

 

"Nah, _I'm_ Soul." She fixed him with a cold glare and he chuckled in spite of himself.

 

"Why am I glowing?" she asked.

 

"You activated magic, Maka."

 

"Okay. That explains nothing."

 

He runs a hand down the side of his face. "It explains everything, alright? I don't know the science behind it—it’s not science!"

 

She pouts, but was quickly distracted by the pulsing glow alight under her skin. "So now I go over to the barista and slip this onto his pinky?"

"Yep. Remember the release order?"

She rattled them off quickly and clearly: Left ring, right index, pinkies, middle fingers, right ring, thumbs, hook and pull with the left index.

"Alright. Now, don't say it until you've got her finger locked down but your second word is étreindre."

"Can you write it down?"

He complied, scrawling the word down on a napkin. She took it, and he watched her turn the word over in her brain. He repeated the pronunciation. Finally, she nodded and slipped from her stool. "So, I just... go up to her?"

"Yep. It's easy-peasy."

She needed a moment longer to think before sweeping away. Her smell, a combination of sweet raspberries and musky hay, lingered as he watched. The little spinster balked at the counter before deciding to just hurdle the thing. She trailed the barista as the worker finished making an iced drink for a customer. The target turned after handing out the beverage and that was when Maka managed to ensnare the lady's finger. Her fingers released the trap and he watched her mouth move and suddenly that same red glow that had enveloped Maka drained away and sank into the barista instead. The blonde girl returned to her perch beside him, awkwardly holding the trail of red-destiny like a leash.

"Now what?"

"Now," he grinned, "the hunt begins."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They spent the rest of the day trailing the girl, hovering around her and watching her interactions; getting a feel for her personality.

Her name was Tsubaki, she was pretty demure—although Soul figured this was a result of her boredom. She was kind and sincere to customers, was quick to do what her boss asked of her, and had quietly browsed a small bookshop on her way home. It seemed she was a regular there, she was happily engaged in mundane small-talk with the owner.

They waited outside of her house once she'd returned home. Maka was too daunted to actually follow the barista inside. She'd briefly scolded him for even suggesting it. So they sat on the curb, quietly mulling over techniques for finding this girl’s soulmate.

"I wonder what kind of person she'd spend the rest of her life with?" she mused after digging her elbow into her exposed foot.

He shrugged. He’d never put much thought into it. People had a way of surprising him.

"I bet he'd be just as tall as her, and handsome to boot. Maybe a quiet, business oriented type of guy? Or maybe she’d like a powerhouse of a lady?"

"You think she could be gay?"

"I dunno. Can't make any assumptions, though."

He'd learned _that_ lesson the hard way so he was glad she was on the lookout for any helpful information. Once, in a bout of frustration, he'd stormed up to his target, broke his vanishing spell, and demanded to know the small woman's sexuality. Her hand to his face had been a hard lesson indeed.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when she sighed, leaning into his shoulder. "How long does matchmaking usually take you?"

Surprised to find no discomfort in the sudden physical contact, he didn't pull away. "Well, usually anywhere from 3-5 business days—"

"Holy smokes!"

"—but I've been averaging a couple every two days because of that unicorn hair," he finished.

She perked up, breaking the contact, to fix him with a surprised smile. "It's that helpful?? Tell me, how does it work?"

He'd neglected to let her in on the secret of her string so she'd learn how to do things the traditional way. She'd been excited enough to play detective, in any case. Leaning back on his hands (a mistake, the cement sidewalk bit into his palms) he explained the way that the unicorn hair would shimmer when a target's destined got near them. "It basically does all the work for you."

She looked star-struck before her face fell into a frown. "Then that means none of the people she talked with today were right?"

"'Fraid not, Maks."

Still optimistic as all get-out, she said, "That just means we'll find her partner tomorr—"

"'BAKI!"

They both startled at the sudden explosion of sound and quickly turned to glimpse a short guy with electric blue hair bouncing on... a pogo stick?

"C'MON BAKI, DON'T KEEP ME WAITING ANY LONGER!!"

They gaped at the eccentric loudmouth as their target slipped out of the front door, hissing at him to be quite lest he wake the whole neighborhood. The difference in the girl was subtle but voluminous; Tsubaki had a spark in her eyes—it was excitement, it was adventurous, it was exhilarated. She was clearly taken with this ‘Black Star.

The two of them made off down the curb after Tsubaki had fitted a pair of roller blades on her feet. When carmine met emerald with a nod Soul pulled Maka to her sore feet and they followed in pursuit.

"Is the string glowing?" Maka asked.

He didn’t look, "Dunno. We can check later."

She pouted briefly before turning to observe them. The leading pair kept pace with each other, though Black Star's impatience was palpable. A continuous string of exaggerated events fell out his mouth and occasionally Tsubaki would have to shoosh him down to a more appropriate volume. After every story she would hum happily or praise his day's accomplishments (cleaning a couple of fish tanks, wrestling a restless puppy to tucker it out, and finding a home for one of the store's old bullfrogs) he would beam proudly at her. Likewise, when he finally got around to asking about her day at the cafe he threw down several suggestions for spicing up her boring routine. The two amorini snickered as they pictured Tsubaki practicing 'mad air guitar solos' on her broom.

They eventually made it to a skate park slash regular park. The half pipes and rails were heavily occupied by a bunch of teens practicing their ollies and kick flips. The skaters seemed to rejoice when Black Star appeared, all greeting him with exuberant 'hey dude's. Soul watched on as several inconsistencies popped up in the cobalt kid’s behavior. When addressing the others he was crass and commanding; the softness they'd seen in him before had become razor sharp, but he was still the picture of hyperbole.

Soul had drawn his own conclusions but the night’s endeavor wasn't about him. "What are your thoughts?" he asked.

Maka sucked on a tooth as he waited for her to collect her opinion. "I think... they like each other, right? She clearly thinks he's fun and he seems to care about her, too."

He held the satchel with the string out to her. She took it and opened it slowly, peeking in with one eye closed. Soul fixated on the small sliver of tongue that poked out of the corner of her mouth, her gasp coming as a mental slap back to reality.

_Get a hold of yourself!_

"It's doing the thing!" she nearly shoved the bag in his face. "It's shimmering! But... is it for Black Star? There are so many people here..."

"Let's check," he said, convinced that the punk had relocated that bullfrog straight to his throat. They creeped up closer to the pogo-rider and Soul told Maka to look at the guy's left pinky. Sure enough, a shimmering silver glow was wrapped around it. She fixed him with an excited smile and even bounced on the balls of her feet. She needed to quit doing that if he was going to have any peace of mind.

"Do I just do the second part of the spell again but on him this time?"

"You could, but it might be easier just to tie a simple knot since you're already hidden."

"Oh. Right."

"Just gotta say Jiù Zhùdìng when you finish tying it," he said.

"Jyu Chuding?"

"More of an 'oo' on both of those. Jiù—"

"Jiù Zhùdìng!"

"… Yeah, that was perfect. Go get 'em, pigtails."

Instead of _getting 'em_ , she crossed her arms. "What, that's it?"

"Uh, yeah? That's it." She wasn't satisfied with his response.

"That doesn't sound very romantic," she pouted again.

"It doesn't have bells or whistles, no. There's no fireworks. It's simple. It's easy." Her lip stuck out further. "They'll still go about the progression of their relationship like they would have otherwise, since they're already on the right track. It just kicks them into gear to spend the rest of their weird little lives together."

"That... doesn't sound too bad, then. But what about couples who haven't met each other yet? What does the string do for them?"

"That's what we call love at first sight," he explained, disinterested in explaining the how's and why's of supernatural dating.

She 'ooh'ed before briskly trotting away from him. She hovered around Black Star and had to wait until he dismounted from his pogo stick (Soul couldn’t believe the guy had been bouncing along on it the entire time—only choosing to stop so he could ‘school these punk-ass bitches’ at basketball). Maka was able slip a knot around the boy's finger while he attempted to block a pass. She messed up the words a couple of times before the red glow flashed through him as well. Tsubaki and Black Star were sealed.

"Alright short-stack, it's time to go," he called.

She jogged back over to him, excitement incarnate. He wasn't too tired to appreciate her lack of energy.

"I did it!" she whooped.

"You sure did. Good job." He can't help but mirror her victorious grin.

It was a small sliver of praise but even where they stood at the edge of the park's fluorescent lighting he could see color bloom in her cheeks.

"Thanks... for teaching me all of this stuff," she said.

"I hope it helps you." When did he get so goddamned soft and sincere? He'd known this girl for two weeks and not _only_ did she manage to make his chest flutter uncomfortably but then he'd gone and given her magical trade secrets. He tried to tell himself 'no more.' He tried to harden his resolve. He tried to will the warmth out of his heart.

But then she hugged him and everything flew right out of the proverbial _goddamned_ window.

He was fucked.

The contact was brief—too brief, and as he reeled she took off skipping down the road. He managed to follow her only when she'd turned back and called his name.

They made it back to the house in one piece. Maka b-lined for the bath, tallying up a list of all the things she'd need to do the next day.

Soul took to flopping on his bed. He was tired, still sore and aching from yesterday's workload, but he knew he wouldn't sleep much. His mind was on an endless loop of the day interspersed with some of the cuter memories of the blonde amorini that had been stockpiling in his brain (he particularly enjoyed the one where'd she'd been crouched down and scritching the chin of one of her sheep).

"Fuck," he swore to himself when he came to the fastest, slowest realization of his life.

_I love that girl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Soul. We'd all be doomed if we were subjected to Maka's high cute outputs all the time, too.  
> Next time on Threaded: we wrap things up... hehe...he


	4. Tying the Knot

The next week passed by blissfully slow for Maka.

She caught Soul brushing the sheep a couple of times while she cleaned their stalls in the morning. The little guys would glow brighter, brighter, brighter until they’d give a full body shake and poof! They would be downing in their wool, bleating happily all the while. He’d shear them down when she wasn’t looking to try and maintain the secret of his affection but even if she hadn’t caught him red-handed, she would be a fool not to notice the amount of wooly inventory that was piling up by her workbench. Soul had even taken oh himself to let them out of the barn in the morning and herd them back inside at the end of the day. When they worked out in the fields, the occasional sassy ewe would try to chew on his hair.

He went out every other day to match-make. Apparently, he’d already made more than he’d expected being out here and that his Stein’s quota was filled. He read her a snippet of a letter he’d gotten from the weird contractor and Maka was interested to note that there love was its own kind of harvestable commodity to demons, feyfolk, and an assortment of other creatures. When she inquired, Soul explained that human love was a renewable and almost endless resource that could be processed as an edible delicacy, pharmaceuticals, and could be reduced to use as an ingredient for certain spells.

She followed along a couple of times to cement her learning, of course. She definitely wasn’t trying to spend as much time with the red-eyed proxy. Her excuse was that, with his help around the farm becoming so frequent, she was ahead on her own timeline. Out of the 4 days that they’d gone out, they’d matched up 3 couples. Alas, the phrase ‘all good things must come to an end’ was more of a sad reality for Maka than some hapless idiom.

He was scheduled to leave in three days. Suffice it to say, she was a little mopey.

They'd been taking a break from some farm work—because as loathe as he was about picking up the scythe again it hadn't stopped him from helping. He was sprawled all over her tiny couch, greedily soaking up the cool air from the fan that was pointed at him. She was sitting on the floor with her back to him idly spinning a little bit of wool. As they relaxed in the simple silence she started spinning some thoughts together as well.

She could _definitely_ get used to having another pair of hands around, that much was clear. She was starting to admit to herself that she wanted that pair of hands to be Soul's, though. His stupid, huge, callousing hands.

She gritted her teeth and smacked the spinning wheel with a little too much gusto.

When... no, **HOW** had she developed feelings for this guy? He'd only been around for three weeks. She’d had a boyfriend once for five whole awkward months and hadn’t felt any differently for him than she felt for anyone else: a genuine connection was there, she had enjoyed his face, he had been nice enough but there had been nothing soul-stirring, nothing tummy-clenching, and certainly nothing she’d consider in the realm of heat-pooling had manifested between them. She had been starting to think that maybe she just didn’t work like other people—that the books she read and the feelings of those romanced fictional characters would never be like her own experience…

And then came Soul.

But he was insufferable, cocky as hell, and worse: he was a whiner. Sure he was actually very kind in offering his services to help her out around the ranch, but he was quick to 'noooo' whenever they'd have to do anything that didn't directly deal with the wooly beasts. Or, worse yet, he would give her a hard case of pleading puppy-eyes. Even though his eyes were an unnatural shade of red, they still managed to work wonders on her resolve.

She knew his reluctance was a farce that he'd drop quickly: he would go complete the tasks without—much—complaining. Sometimes he'd even have the gall to grin at her exasperation (a farce of her own, definitely) and she couldn't even bring herself to be truly irritated.

The fact that he was having such a profound effect on her set her blood to simmer. It was like he'd been sent out here to steal her heart and then just run away with it. It just wasn't fair!

Someone knocked on the door just as a loud 'ugh' slipped out of her mouth.

Her silvery tenant chuckled. "I guess I'll get it, then."

When he came back he looked excited. He was too handsome when he smiled. She scowled. "What?"

He brandished a couple of envelopes, "The checks came in."

Her chagrin ebbed immediately. She set the spinner down and Soul sat down close beside her, his right side almost completely flush with her left. The contact was overwhelming and she had to fight the impulse to lean her head on his shoulder, link his arm through hers and pile her legs all over his.

He picked through a couple and then handed her one that was addressed to one 'Maka Albarn.'

She couldn't help feeling a little giddy at the prospect. She'd gotten paid on commission for her string before but had never gotten an actual paycheck. She tore into the envelope.

"Oh…wow," was the only thing she could manage when she saw the numbers scrawled out.

"Whatd'jya get?" he tossed his elbow onto the couch and turned toward her to peer down, as unnecessary as it was since they were so close already, she hardly noticed that she could suddenly feel his breath on her skin.

She was getting five-hundred dollars. "Soul."

He laughed, "yeah?"

"Five-hundred dollars. We were out there for like 8 hours."

"Mmhm. That's what... $50 an hour?"

"WHAT THE HECK! I thought you said red-destiny wasn't a good money-maker!"

"It usually takes people _days_ to match people successfully," he shrugged. "And most people would have to buy their string supply. Stuff's not cheap, y'know. You've got quite a few advantages in your corner."

She was a more than a little star-struck, staring at the paper in her hand as Soul dug into his own checks.

"I'll be okay if I keep this up," she murmured, almost not believing the math she continuously ran through her brain. "I'll be okay…"

She missed the big smile that lit up his face; relief came to her in the form of huge tears welling up in her eyes. She could keep the house. She could keep the farm. And she now had the means to keep her sanity. She choked back a sob.

"Woah. Hey, are you crying?"

She swept at her tears but they wouldn't stop. She settled for just digging the heel of her palms into her eyes. She was relieved, she was happy... Why was she crying?

They stayed that way for a while: her fighting back a relentless wave of tears and him floundering for what to do. Eventually her breakdown spiraled into a release of every little thing she'd repressed since her mom passed away. It was all too much and she was glad to be moving passed it, finally, even at a snail’s pace. With a deep breath and a large sigh, she was able to think clearly.

As she rubbed her red cheeks dry she mumbled a quiet 'sorry' into his shirt. She didn't know when it had happened but he'd tucked her under his arm and was rubbing soothing circles into her shoulder.

"Hey. No. You have nothing to apologize for."

She sniffled, "but I got your shirt all gross."

His lips pulled up into a grin that was soft (who could even grin _softly_ ) and said, "We've been working in the field for hours. My shirt was gross before you got to it."

He knew just what to say to make her feel normal again. She smacked him on shoulder lightly with a small, snotty snort.

"I feel like I'm constantly thanking you."

"Yeah, your manners are impeccable. You need to stop that, you know? I feel barbaric in your midst." She was full-on laughing now. "I haven't thanked you for helping me _once_."

"Have I... have I even really helped you?" she couldn't think of anything she'd really done to explicitly help him and a spike of guilt lodged in her heart.

He hummed affirmatively, "More than you probably know."

_What does **that** mean?_

"How so?" she inquired, pulling back just enough to look him in the face. She was still taking comfort in the arm perched across her shoulders.

She couldn't tell if the pink on his cheeks was a result of the sun they'd gotten earlier, or if it was something else.

"Cool guys don't talk about their—"

"Don't give me that crap!" she was about to school him about the negative societal impacts of toxic masculinity for the umpteenth time when he clamped a hand over her mouth.

"I know," he started, looking deflated. "I'm just… I’m not... good with these sorts of things. I guess it's mostly been your companionship that I'm grateful for."

As it turned out the pink on his cheeks had been a sunburn because his face gradually painted itself a brighter shade of red as he thanked her for opening up to him, for letting him help her, for laughing at his dumb jokes, for following along on her off-days and taking interest in him and his work. "I've been really... happy, actually, working out here—with you and the sheep. So, uh... thank you."

The whole situation was _entirely unfair_. They were too close and Maka was being torn apart by tiny whispers of suggestion. She could feel his breath on her face, she could smell his sweat, she could touch him, touch him more, she could kiss—

She wrenched herself to her feet, an awkward laugh bubbling out of her mouth. "Y-you're welcome! I've... I've enjoyed having you out here as well." Her pause was met with his searching eyes. Feeling overwhelmed again, she spun on her heel and decided now would be a perfect time to get back to work. "You coming?"

He followed. He didn't mention how weird she was acting and she was grateful for that, but he didn't mention much of anything else. A heavy silence settled on them and she knew it was her fault. How could she just ask him to stay? She could hardly admit to _herself_ that she had caught a case of the feelings for Soul… how could she tell _him_? Especially when she didn't know how he felt. Granted, she had a better idea now since he'd _actually shared_ some of his thoughts with her... but it couldn't be that easy. It was **never** that easy.

Still...

_I messed up._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sure, the day's physical work had been draining but she was used to that. Maka felt absolutely exhausted and it had everything to do with the endless stream of thoughts that had whirled through her head all day. She glanced at the clock. It dimly shone 3:46. She still hadn't managed to fall asleep. She tore the blankets off and decided to get some reading done.

She was just getting settled into the large armchair in the library when she heard Soul yell. Immediately on alert, she stole down the hallway and knocked softly on his door.

"Soul? You okay in there?"

There was no response. She waited. Sure enough a minute later he yelled again. She slowly peaked into the room: the good news was he wasn't being murdered.

He was curled up tightly in the middle of the bed, the blankets pooled on the floor. He was restless and definitely asleep. Feeling relief and anxiety at the same time was new for Maka and she idled in the doorway. She didn't want to intrude (he was only wearing boxers, and she was thanking the heavens that he had _those_ on) but she could see he was dealing with some terrible nightmare and wanted to comfort him.

She picked the blanket off of the floor and pulled it back over him. It did nothing to soothe him but at least she didn't feel so creepy about deciding to stay. She sat gingerly on the side of the bed as he clawed at the sheets and dark noises crept from the back of his throat. 

"Hey," she cooed, a feeble attempt to wake him. He didn't so much as stir when she tried rubbing circles into his shoulder through the covers. She felt entirely out of her element, and carded her fingers through his stark hair to massage his scalp. It’s what her mother had done for her.

He sucked in a sharp breath and then after a couple of moments of stillness he released a long exhale that took all of the tension out of him. He shifted out of the fetal position and leaned into her hand. She giggled softly when the thought crossed her mind that he'd been spending too much time with the sheep.

"You nuzzler."

His eyes blinked open sluggishly at the sound.

"Maka?"

She hummed in response. "You were having a nightmare."

"Oh. Yeah..."

She resumed petting him, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

His voice was rich with sleepy baritone, "It's nothing, really. I have the same nightmare every now and then. A perfectly normal dream gets hijacked. It's... definitely pretty wacko."

"How so?"

He stretched across the bed but his head stayed put under her ministrations. He was thinking about how to describe it and had a few false starts. "When the nightmare part takes over it's... it's like the world shrinks, like I'm being boxed in by darkness and cut off from whatever had been happening. I try to get out but it's like the darkness is a wall made of this black, sludgy shit. And then there's this voice that tells me I'm going to go crazy. It just keeps telling me all of this stuff I can never remember and the walls keep closing in on me. Eventually it feels like I'm drowning. I usually wake up with a sharp pain across my chest."

"That sounds terrible!"

"Sucks pretty hard. I'd much rather wake up to..." he didn't finish but he looked up at her briefly before clearing his throat. "Thanks. Anyway. I didn't wake you up, did I? That'd be pretty lame."

"No, I was awake."

He managed to pull himself away from her scritches to sit up against the headboard, considering her with his dark eyes. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Hm-mm."

"You alright?"

She folded her hands into her lap not sure what to do with them anymore. "I... I don't know."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he mimicked, gently.

She knew she needed to. "I-I think so."

"Did I say something earlier to upset you?" he asked carefully.

She turned to look at him and said, "No, no, the things you said... they made me happy." He smiled. Even though she could see the questions in his posture he didn't voice them. "I'm sorry, actually. For being weird earlier. I-I've been thinking about some stuff and I wasn't ready to talk about it then."

His left eyebrow quirked up, "Are you ready to talk about it now?"

She turned away and wrung her hands. "I don't think so—"

"Then you don't have to."

"—but there isn't much time left _to_ talk."

He tugged lightly on her loose hair, effectively capturing her attention. "Maka."

"What?"

His eyes searched her again. "What you want to talk about... Is it about me leaving?"

Her tongue felt like lead so she nodded.

"Are you worried about hiring someone to work here?"

"W-what? No. Well—kind of, but no."

"'Kind of, but no,'" he chimed, playfulness creeping into his tone. "What in the world does that even mean, Maks?"

_There it is_ , she thought as a flutter of butterflies stretched their wings inside her tummy. _That stupid nickname is going to be the end of me._

She buried her face into her hands. He murmured an apology and reminded her that she didn't have to say anything at all if she was uncomfortable.

_But I have to tell him._

"Soul, I..."

It was too quiet.

Neither of them seemed to breathe.

The night outside of the room was still.

She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, could feel the weight of it in her ribcage.

"Iwantyoutostay," the words spilled out of her mouth. Relief, she'd said it.

He blinked owlishly at her. "You want me to stay?"

"Mm-hm." Anxiety, anticipating his response.

He snickered into a fist. "That's all?"

"Are you _laughing_ at me?" Numb, white-hot confusion.

"Sorry, sorry," he amended, holding his palms up to placate her impending fury. "I just- I wasn't expecting that, is all. It caught me off guard. You... really want me to stay here?"

She felt sheepish, "Well, only if you want to."

"But… you'll have to deal with my shitty jokes," he grinned.

"I know."

"And leaving the toilet seat up? You hate that. I do it all the time... On accident, of course."

She couldn't help but cringe, "We can work on that."

"You'd even put up with me sensually reading _Cowboy Fever_ aloud to you?"

"You're right, you can't stay. You have to die." She quickly grabbed a pillow and mashed it into his shit-eating grin.

He laughed heartily and attempted to duck away from a pillowy-pulverizing. He didn't get far enough. "I took—hey!—note of where you dog-eared that one."

She yelped and could feel her ears burning.

"Even gave it the benefit of the doubt," he said as he rolled off of the bed to avoid her onslaught. "I thought, 'Sure it looks trashy as hell, but Maka's a smart girl so it's gotta have _some_ substance.' **Boy howdy** was I wrong!"

Even though she was thoroughly embarrassed (because of the teasing and his state of dress) she found her hackles didn't raise to defend herself; he was just joking around and she was too exhausted to tackle him and dissuade him from reading her stash. "How is it possible to be so sassy right after you wake up? I don't understand it."

She disarmed herself, fluffing the pillow back where it belonged. He sat back down on the bed, wary of any sudden moves and eyeing her suspiciously. When she leaned against the headboard instead of tricking him, he relaxed. "I dunno, you're just fun I guess."

She smiled, "Fun enough that you'd be willing to stick around?"

"Oh, yeah definitely. Uh, if you'll have me that is. I can pay rent and help out and—"

She shook her head. "I'm still going to hire someone to help me with the ranching."

"That sounds good if you can afford to. But… can I..." He rubbed the back of his neck, "Would it be alright if I took care of the sheep?"

"Oh. Sure, but why?"

"The little fuckers grew on me. I like working with them," he was reluctant to admit.

She giggled, "I see, you only want me for my sheep."

He leaned over to fix her with a serious stare. "Well that's just not true."

Oh.

She cleared her throat and swallowed hard. They were close again and the suggestions her body had whispered to her in the afternoon came back full force. She didn't have nearly as many reservations about following them, though: he would stay, he cared about her, he enjoyed her company, and if she was going to judge his feelings by the way he was looking at her just then she'd even say he...

_Oh._

Slowly, tentatively, she reached toward him and placed her palms on his bare shoulders. He was warm. She let her hands travel up his neck and come to rest on the flat planes of his jaw, thumbs brushing against cheekbones.

He leaned forward incredibly slowly, his downy lashes fluttering down. She ended up closing the distance, pressing her lips lightly against his. They were so soft and firm under her own... She could feel his breath hitch to a stop at the contact, his pulse raced under her hands, and he leaned into her further.

"Maka..." he breathed out, reaching out to familiarize his hands with her face. He ended up peppering her cheeks with tiny kisses before kissing her mouth harder.

Her brain kicked back on when they finally pulled away from each other. The kiss had been chaste—passionate and deep and _chaste_ , really, but her blood seemed to boil in her skin.

"...Can I try something?"

She nodded. 

He got up and left, which left her very curious in his wake. She hadn't expected him to leave but in no way did she feel abandoned. He tripped on something in the dark out in the house and yelped a curse.

"Y'alright out there?" she called.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

When he returned to the room he had his hands behind his back.

"So... Uh, this might seem kind of fast... but I've been thinking about it for a little while and I'm pretty sure I've got it sorted out? But it's definitely up to you if want to see for sure or not, since it’s kind of important? But there's really no rush now that I'm sticking around and I don't want you to feel like you need to say yes, or whatever—because you don't, if that's how you feel, but I thought maybe I'd put it on the table just in case?"

"What are you on about?" She’d never heard him talk faster than a drawl before.

He sat beside her once more and kissed each knuckle on her hand before tucking a length of red-destiny into her palm.

"O-oh!" she squeaked. "Isn't this like... getting magic married?"

She could see his flush even in the dark room. "W-well, not really but I guess it **is** pretty serious. Sorry."

He made to take it back but she curled her fingers around it. "You don't have to apologize, Soul."

"Still..." he folded his hands into his lap and inspected them thoroughly, "I've just... never felt this way before."

"Me neither," she confessed. "I... I want to."

He perked up, almost sitting straight for once. "Are you sure?"

"Mm-hmm. Here, hold out your hand," she said. He complied, spreading his fingers to give her easy access. She tied a simple knot on his pinky and, after sharing a nod, spoke, "Ètreindre."

Soul's skin lit up around them looking otherworldly in the shroud of shadow and magic. She wanted to kiss him again but she realized his lips were pulled tightly into the biggest, goofiest smile she'd ever seen. He ran his thumb over her left pinky and the sensation made her shiver.

When she looked down to her hand she watched a tendril of silver glimmer under his thumb.

Not only was he an insufferable, cocky whiner, he was also an unintentional liar: there were _thousands_ of fireworks going off in her. She beamed back at him.

They came together for a third kiss and both of them overshot the distance in their excitement, bonking their heads and laughing nervously as a result.

That kiss was sweet and full of tender, exploring touches. Sharp inhalations and soft breathy moans filled the space between them. He really was gorgeous all lit up.

_Oh, right. Magic stuff._

She pulled away from him just as he swiped his tongue across her bottom lip.

He was halfway through an apology when she pressed a finger (her glowing pinky) to his lips to shoosh him.

"Oh, right," he chuckled, the sound lower than usual.

He kissed her finger (since it was right there) and then secured the other end of the string delicately around it.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes." They stared silently into each other's eyes for several long moments.

"Absolutely positive?"

"Yes, Soul. Are _you_ sure?"

"Completely."

More silence. More nothing.

She swallowed her anticipation, "Are you going to...?"

His eyebrows shot up and his smile was more than a little sassy, "I would, but you technically started it."

"Oh! Oh. Right, sorry... Uh, wait, now I'm all messed up. What was the word to close it again?" 

"Jiù Zhùdìng," he said softly.

She nodded and took a deep breath, "Jiù Zhùdìng."

She flashed red as well but this time she could feel it spread across her, warming its way across her skin. Soon, the active magic dispersed and they were settled in darkness again—the string between them was visible but not tangible in any way. It would take some getting used to.

She clasped their hands together. "Can everyone see their string?"

"Only us magical folk, apparently," he said, tucking his head against her shoulder, his breath puffing against her neck. She rested her head against his, the weight of the day fully sinking in since she wasn't strung up with anxiety. She started to doze off.

Uncomfortably positioned, Soul reluctantly detached himself from the amorini girl only to pull her against his chest as he flopped horizontally on the bed. Their legs intertwined and she snuggled up into his chest. He took to brushing her hair back away from her face.

She was almost asleep when he rumbled out a barely audible, "I think I love you."

She pressed a convenient kiss to his collarbone and murmured, "I think I love you too," into his heartbeat. It was easy to say, she reflected, because it was true. For all of his irritating qualities he was also unbelievably kind-hearted, patient, and supportive. He was trustworthy and helpful, caring and compassionate. He was salty and sarcastic, had a dark sense of humor could clearly help her feel at ease. 

As she continued to rack up his endearing qualities she was slipping deeper into unconsciousness and she settled on the one thing that was undeniable:

He was her soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for following along and being the sweetest people ever! I hope you all had a great Soma Week! Let me know what you thought here, over on ffn or you can send me stuff over on tumblr as well (daciafu). Y'all are the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for reading :) I hope you enjoyed that chapter: there are 3 more in the works for this lil fic. I'm almost finished with the roughs, I just couldn't get it all done in time for today with everything else I've been working on. If it's not all out by next week someone needs to punch me.


End file.
